Delta Quadrant Drabbles
by Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway
Summary: A collection of drabbles staring our favorite captain and her intrepid crew.
1. Mourning Dew

**Disclaimer**: I own neither Star Trek: Voyager nor the characters used in my stories.

**Author's Note**: My muse picked up on my foul mood and decided to plop this in my mind. This is the first of many drabbles (this happens to be a triple drabble) which I'll post as my muse sees fit. Nova, this is your fault.

* * *

The morning dew slowly seeps into his pants but he doesn't notice. He's been here for an hour already, since just before dawn, and somewhere after the first ten minutes he lost awareness of the world around him. His eyes are on the stone before him but his thoughts are lost in the past, thousands of lightyears away. He hears the sound of laughter, the voice burned like warm whiskey on a cold night. He sees the crooked smile, the twinkle in the blue eyes that warned of a mischievous mood. He feels the touch of a hand, the palm on his chest that was a gesture only for him.

_Things aren't supposed to be like this_, he thinks. _We're home now and things aren't supposed to be like this._

All it took was for one slight miscalculation from the ensign piloting the shuttle and everything had gone wrong on the trip home from a diplomatic function off-planet. The two men who'd come to his house in the middle of the night and told him that she was gone had no answers for him yet, though they did tell him that the ensign had lived and that it was all a random accident. They told him that there was nothing that could have been done; it wasn't a comfort to him then and it's not a comfort now, a week later. He still can't believe it, won't accept it.

I never got the chance to tell her, he thinks, pain washing over him again as he touches the cold marble and wishes for the thousandth time that he had been there to continue the journey by her side. He's not sure what to do with himself now, without her here beside him to share a life with.

_I love you._


	2. Accusations

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek: Voyager or the characters used here. I only own the chocolate cake, which I'm using to reward the characters for playing nicely in this one.

**Author's Note**: 245 words make this between a double and a triple drabble, but oh well. This is for mylittleredgirl, as payment for the feels I inflicted.

* * *

"Uh, excuse you."

Her sharp reprimand brings his head up and it takes him a second to fully comprehend what's happening. She's standing in front of the sofa, her hands on her hips and a level ten glare in place. He stands slowly, his eyebrow raising as he matches her pose.

"Can I help you?"

She reaches out and prods his chest with one finger, her voice crisp and very matter-of-fact as she says, "I know it was you."

"What was me?" he asks, genuinely confused about what she's talking about.

"I know you stole my chocolate cake. It was in stasis this morning and now it's not, so you stole it," she accuses and he can't help his reaction; he laughs in her face. Tears are streaming down his cheeks by the time he's able to get himself under control.

"Really? Really?" he gasps, chuckling softly. "I didn't take your cake, Kathryn. You ate it at lunch, remember?"

She's silent for a moment, staring at him with narrowed eyes. After a long moment she relaxes, smiling even as a blush creeps up her neck.

"I'm sorry, my love. You know how I get when I'm hungry," she mumbles, settling herself on his lap. He wraps one arm around her as best he can and kisses her nose as his free hand slips down to touch her growing tummy.

"No apologies needed, beloved. I saved you my slice of chocolate cake, just in case."


	3. How To Defeat the Borg

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek: Voyager or any characters used here.

**Author's Note**: My muse is diabolical and this is the result. It's a triple drabble and is absolute nonsense.

* * *

It's a very well-kept secret that the Borg Queen is allergic to tuna. I had absolutely no idea that the Borg Queen had a food allergy, since the Borg don't eat; they get energy and any nourishment needed through their regeneration alcoves. But Seven of Nine, former Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One and current Astrometrics officer aboard the Federation Starship Voyager, is a lousy drunk and tends to spill secrets when she's had more than half a glass of wine. While that could be disastrous for Voyager should Seven ever drink around aliens, it proved fortuitous for us in the struggle against the Borg.

Seven proceeded to tell me what I'm going to tell you now, though it musn't go any further than us. If the Borg Queen finds out that I'm revealing this information, which she considers to be her biggest weakness, she'll be relentless in her pursuit of Voyager and I'm not keen on the idea of having to face the mottle-headed bimbo again.

The Queen, though allergic to tuna, can't resist the thought of a good ol' tuna sandwich. Seven isn't entirely sure why the matriarch of the mechanical demons has no self-control where tuna sandwiches are concerned (she thinks it's a flaw in the computer that makes every Queen susceptible to the craving), but the Queen can't say no. Unfortunately for her, she has a violently immediate anaphylactic reaction; her throat closes up, her blood pressure plummets, and not even Borg perfection can compensate for the total disintegration of her physical body. The resulting shock to the Hive mind is enough to take out the Collective, one drone at a Borg had three close calls with this problem before they realized that tuna needed to be a banned substance in the Queen's presence.


	4. Not the Captain

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing recognizable. Star Trek: Voyager and its characters are not mine; I just take them out to play with the promise to return them happy and intact.

**Author's Note:** This is dedicated to Nova, who went and studied like a good student. My muse seems to be on a naughty kick lately and I let her out to play, so be warned that this drabble/ficlet is rated M.

* * *

It's been a long seven years.

It's lonely at the top, something she's been aware of since the first few days in the Delta Quadrant. There hasn't been anyone in all that time: not Jaffen, not Kashyk, not even the holographic Michael. She's been isolated, celibate, and desperately lonely, and nothing's helped ease the ache of being deprived of something as simple as another person's touch.

She knew he loved her before New Earth, knew that his ancient legend was a veiled way of telling her that, but she kept her own emotions and feelings tightly reined in. As captain, she couldn't be seen as anything less than infallible and essentially omnipotent; it was a heavy burden and shoulder for seven years, and there were times she thought it terribly unfair, but she'd been the one to strand them in the Delta Quadrant and she was the one who had to get them home.

But she's not the captain now, hasn't been for almost an hour. She's just Kathryn, her commission resigned in a flurry of chaos; Admiral Hayes begged her to stay, Admiral Nechayev threatened her with publicity if she went through with her resignation, and Own Paris had the nerve to tell her he was disappointed in her, as if a solid seven years of unrelenting pressure was normal and expected.

She almost lost him, a fact that still makes her tremble. The Admiral's journey back in time saved her crew from another sixteen years of struggling through the Delta Quadrant, Tuvok from a horrible mental degradation, and Seven from a tragically preventable death. But the admiral, in all of her horridly cold wisdom, decided Kathryn needed to know exactly what she'd missed out on by playing the distanced and aloof captain; Admiral Janeway didn't mince words and Kathryn realized that the man she loved was moving on.

Unacceptable.

She promised the Admiral she'd talk to him, that she'd tell him exactly how she felt about him, but things had happened quickly with the Admiral's plan and before Kathryn really even had time to stop and breathe, Voyager was home. She didn't have time to talk to him before she was fighting for her crew, throwing everything she had into making sure every single person was taken care of. Twenty-four hours later the former Maquis, Tom Paris, and the Equinox Five are pardoned with commissions upheld, Seven and the Doctor are safe, and Kathryn finally beamed back to her Ready Room from Headquarters. She'd been planning on packing and going to Indiana but he'd come to her to apologize for the Seven fiasco and, as always, things went much differently than expected.

Her attention is brought back to the present as the first tingles of orgasm blossom through her body. She's holding on to the edge of the desk as tightly as she can, her body bending and arching in bliss. It's been so long since she's done this that the feeling of release is unfamiliar, but it's certainly not unwelcome. The sound of her breathing echoes through the room, along with the masculine grunts of her companion. He's focused on her, his dark gaze burning through to her very soul and she loses the rhythm they've set as the pleasure crests and washes through her trembling limbs.

Chakotay grunts as her body clenches around him, pulling him with her into that place of perfection and bliss. As their bodies relax and he falls forward into her, she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close. Whispered words of love and adoration float between them, apologies and regrets drifting into the background as they finally acknowledge what they mean to each other. He promises that he's hers, that she's his, and that they'll never be apart again. And for the first time in seven years, the loneliness of command is the furthest thing from her mind.


End file.
